Fire: Part II
by A for Anarchy
Summary: This is the tenth fic in my one-word prompt series. It picks up where Fire: Part I left off, but we switch to Petyr's POV. Definitely Petyr/Sansa in this one. Rated T for the creep factor.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own _A Song of Ice and Fire_, it belongs to GRRM.

**Author's Note**: This is the tenth fic in my one-word prompt series and is the sequel to _Fire: Part I_. It is most definitely Petyr/Sansa.

* * *

He loved to watch Sansa bathe in the firelight. It made her pale skin glow and her hair blaze. She looked a creature born of the fire itself, and he watched carefully to see that it would not snatch her away from him.

It was in these moments that he would catalogue the differences, not the similarities, between Cat and her daughter. He had once been frustrated to find that Sansa's positive balance began to outstrip that of her mother's, but no longer. Now, he reveled in those differences and praised them whenever possible.

Unlike her mother, Sansa's heart was not naturally deceitful. She could, however, be taught to master the art. Cat deceived everyone around her, him most of all, but now he was wise to her tricks and her shade would sway him no more. Also unlike he mother, Sansa could not hide the lust that burned through her body when she looked at him. Her eyes became liquid fire, her cheeks would flush, and her hands would curl as if she were stopping herself from laying them on him.

Yes, Sansa was a much more honest creature and what deceit she used would be for his benefit alone. To that end, he would first teach her to hide the fire in her eyes and the lust in her blood.

He almost hated to startle her out of her quiet repose, but he was too eager to begin corrupting her fiery innocence.

"Sansa."

She was surprised by his presence, but he could also see a spark of interest rise in her eyes. Her open appreciation of his form was gratifying, but it was a regard that she must be taught to hide.

"My Lord Baelish, what may I do for you? I admit, the hour is late, but if you have need…"

He waved away her innocent query; his little wolf was solicitous, as always, but her words lit a flame within him and made his cock harden. "Please, Sansa, call me Petyr."

He watched as she gave a minute shake of her head. Normally, she would politely ignore his request, but tonight she outright refused. "May I ask why the use of my given name is so distasteful to you?"

The question disconcerted her, and her eyes widened in shock, "My lord, you must not think that that is the case! I―it's a mere convention of formality! I do not know you well enough to call you by name…And I believe it to be…for now…"

He motioned for her to continue, strangely anxious to hear her logic laid out before him.

"I need the distance, my lord, if I start to think of you in such familiar terms I might―I might act improperly, and it would not do to presume upon your kind hospitality in such a way."

She was more clever and aware than he had supposed. Her time in King's Landing had done her at least one good turn.

"And if I should desire that you presume?"

It was a dangerous game that he was playing now. To engage in this manner with Sansa without precautions could ruin the plans he had set in motion, but the desire to go on outweighed the possible costs at the moment. Later, he would indulge in self-recrimination, but here, in the present, he wanted to know what it felt like to have his flesh seared by Sansa's fire.

"If you desired my presumption, Lord Baelish, you only needed to ask."

"I'm asking, Sansa, and I don't do that very often. Do you know why?"

She nodded, "You dislike the possibility of incurring a debt or making yourself vulnerable."

"Correct, but I am willing to risk both in this venture; the present question is whether _you_ are willing."

Sansa rose from her place at the fire to stand before him. He felt the warmth from her presence immediately, it belied her Northern heritage, a people who were, by and large, cold by nature.

"And if I were, Lord Baelish?"

He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand and drew her closer to his body. He felt her shiver as her chest brushed against his. He leant in close and whispered again, for the final time, "Call me Petyr."

His name from her lips was a small puff of air before he covered her mouth with his own, "Petyr."

Their kiss was wild, free of the restraints that had held them back for so long. Her inexperience did not matter, he would be her tutor, and so far, Sansa was proving to be a most apt pupil.


End file.
